The Price of Milk
by sistokid
Summary: SLASH. Gordie had just been getting a gallon of milk when some idiots decided to hold up the store. Of course, they end up wanting a hostage, and who do they pick? Wild guess, folks. Gordie/Chris. Oneshot.


**Here is a really random story that was originally supposed to be two thousand words, but ended up being thirteen grand. Whoops.**

**Okay, I don't rate for homosexuality, WHICH THIS STORY CONTAINS. So, yeah. Flames will be shoved in the corner and forced to wear a dunce hat. **

**I don't own Stand By Me, The Body, or the characters. **

**But I do own the plot.**

**Warnings for language, but it's not that terrible.a**

**Voila.**

All I wanted was some goddamn milk.

I think that it's a pretty reasonable desire, right? It's not like I was asking for something irrational like the lost city of Atlantis or a flying car stuffed with cash. No, I just wanted one gallon of Donson's free-range cattle whole milk. That was all my little heart desired as I slumped past the welcomer guy who stood cheerfully just inside the store's doorway.

Before I move on, I must point out said welcomer guy. First off, you may be wondering exactly what the hell a welcomer guy is. A lot of stores, at least back then, didn't have these little older men in scraggly old aprons that waddled around aimlessly. They were stationed somewhere right after the entrance, and were to greet every customer that walk through. I guess it helped with business or something. Now, this particular man, whose name I never did get, was different. Not to say he didn't do his job; he was possibly one of the friendliest welcomer guys ever. And this tiny, ninety-something year old man didn't particularly stand out or make a show of himself. But he had been the store's welcomer for years. He started somewhere around nineteen sixty, although it might've been a year or so after that. In his first year… actually, probably in the first month, he managed to memorize every name of every single person in Castle Rock. Back as a teenager, when this kid named Chris was my best friend, we'd walk to the store once a week for something to eat, and every day that welcomer guy would give the same damn greeting. "Hello, Mister Lachance, Mister Chambers. How are you today?" That's what he'd say, every week for four straight years. Even though I haven't spoken to that kid I mentioned, Chris, since before college- and god, what's that been, four years?- the old man still greets me every time.

"Hello, Mister Lachance. You seem to be missing Mister Chambers. How are you today?" That's another thing. That greeting, which he just called to me now as I headed past him to the milk aisle, has been his newer version ever since I had started coming in Chris-less. At first, I figured he was just taking notice of the lack of the other boy's presence, as in, Chris was not physically with me. But after a while, I picked up on the sympathetic tone he would subtly switch to, and the almost unnoticeable sad gleam in his eyes. Eventually, I realized that when he said I was missing Chris, it was the emotional kind. And lord, that old man was right.

I missed Chris. He had been my childhood best friend. We were practically attached at the hip, to use a cliché saying. Or, at least, we were close until after high school graduation. He had gotten into the community college, and I attended a slightly fancier university on the hem of town. We ended up not hanging out anymore, and I became fully convinced he had forgotten about me.

It had felt like my heart had been hacked at with an ax. As gay as it sounds, Chris had been my other half. He had been there through my crappy childhood, and not having him around anymore made me feel like a box of crayons with only half of the colorful, waxy sticks.

I did try to move on. Jesus, that makes it sound like I _divorced_ him, doesn't it? But that's kind of what it was like. Anyway, I made a few friends at the university, and I even hooked a girlfriend. She was pretty, I suppose. Her name was Ella, and we had planned to move into this little house a few towns over in a week. Until then, we had been staying in my parent's house. They liked her well enough, I guess.

I had planned on proposing to her the next night. Actually, I was supposed to pop the question two months ago, but I kept putting it off. I kept the ring stuffed in my coat pocket though, because I repeatedly picked good times to propose but almost immediately would postpone it.

I don't know what was wrong with me. I had a pretty girl who everyone thought I should settle down with, I had a down payment on a nice little cottage that was only ten minutes away from my job, and I had three good friends, Ricky, James and Simon. But I still felt sort of miserable. Remembering my nonexistent friendship with Chris [thanks, welcomer guy] made it hurt ten times more.

I soon realized that I had been staring intently at the shelves of milk for the past few minutes. Glancing around to make sure no one witnessed my one-sided staring contest, I quickly grabbed a gallon and scuttled off toward the cash register. Out of six registers, only the one was open, which resulted in a crooked line of impatient shoppers.

"Could this line _be_ any less progressive?" This was the woman at the end of the line. The cashier glanced back at her, and you could just tell he wanted to tell her to go die.

"Sorry, ma'am. I'm going as quickly as I can without making errors." Ooh, he was good. I would've just started throwing groceries at her head.

"Well, you think that they'd either put out more employees or hire ones that could work at a decent pace without _error_," she snapped. I turned to look at her. There were two people in front of me, and three between myself and her, so I guess she had a right to feel impatient. But there's a difference between being impatient and being a total bitch for no reason.

"If you don't like it, ma'am, then you can speak to my manager. I can go get him right now. However, that would take _more_ time, and you'd end up leaving this store at least ten minutes later than you would if you'd just _let me work_." The cashier hadn't stopped ringing things up throughout his speech. Me and a few other customers in line were trying not to laugh, but it was freaking hilarious.

She shut up, but after another five minutes of standing in line, I kind of knew how she felt. Eventually, though, it was my turn to pay for my stuff, and I fished out my wallet as the guy picked up the milk.

"Alright, nobody move!"

Of course.

I had heard that the Cobras had a new generation that had been holding up most of the businesses in town lately. Of course, I didn't think I'd be stuck in the middle of it.

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen. You are gonna give us everything in the register, got it?"

I turned to glance at the intruders. There were three of them, each wearing a wooly black ski mask and dark-shaded clothing. The one talking was a scrawny little thing, holding a shiny gun towards the cashier. The next guy was freaking huge. We're talking pro-wrestler-on-dinosaur-steroids huge. He also had a gun, but he was aiming more for the customers on line behind me. The last guy didn't seem to have a gun, but he stood there confidently with his arms crossed, like he owned the place. From the way the other two robbers kept glancing at him for approval, I could tell he was the leader of the trio.

"You!" The shrimpy robber stomped over to the sole cashier. "Gimmie all the cash!" The cashier did so clumsily, unlocking the drawer with shaky hands. Snatching up all of the bills, he haphazardly stacked them and forked them over to the impatient man, who still jabbed his gun in the cashier's direction. The robber shuffled through the cash briefly before glaring at the cashier. "Seventeen bucks? That's _it_?"

Of course, at this point I chose to open my big mouth.

"Actually, it's fifty seven. You counted the fifty dollar bill as a ten," I corrected calmly. As soon as I spoke, I mentally slapped myself in the head. God only knows what part of my brain had been malfunctioning enough to have me correct a robber in the middle of a friggen hold up.

Apparently, the robber thought the same thing, because he stared at me like I had a samurai sword sticking out of my ear. The big muscle mass of a robber came marching up to me, glaring through his mask's eyeholes along with his skinny friend.

"We were planning on blowing someone's brains out today, to show our dumbass mayor how serious we are. Looks like you just volunteered for that position." Before I could say anything or even begin to acknowledge my nervousness, the beefy guy had his gun pressed up against my head, jabbing my temple with the cool tip. "This one can go, right, Boss?" Beefy turned back to the third, unarmed robber.

Up until then, I had forgotten about him, but when I peeked under the revolver at the leader, I found him gaping back at me. His previously sturdily crossed arms had loosened dramatically, and his eyes were wide and his lips were parted. It almost looked like he was shocked, but I couldn't figure out what had just happened that left this crook speechless. All at once, he seemed to snap out of it.

"No!" he shouted, startling his cronies. "I mean, no. Don't kill this one." He walked over to us, but wouldn't look at me. For a moment, he appeared to be in deep thought. "Change of plans. Take the cash; we're going back to the base. Blimp, give me your gun."

The beefy guy, rightly named Blimp, hesitated, but dutifully lowered his weapon away from my face. He handed it to the leader, moping all the while.

"But Boss… I thought we were gonna get to splatter some brains!" Blimp whined.

"I told you, I changed my mind. Let's go. Oh, you too," he added, pointing at me with his newly attained gun. I stared blankly.

"What?"

"You're going with us."

"Why?" I swear, it's times like this when I wish my mouth had a mute button. The guy gave me a look, but it wasn't very fierce.

"You're a hostage, stupid. Now follow Blimp. If you so much as squeak for help, I'll have Ratface there shoot you."

"You wouldn't do it yourself?" _SHUT UP, MOUTH._

He looked at me, his expression softening for a trilli-second.

"No. I wouldn't." And back to mad face. "Now move."

They led me to a small, clearly abandoned house on the other side of some woods. The walk was long, and silent, and the only difference between it and my nightly strolls was the constant poking of a gun at the center of my back.

The house itself was worn and the windows had thick boards nailed to them, given it a broken down look. The lead robber jabbed me with the gun, urging me inside as the shrimpy one, Ratface, opened the door. It was like our old tree house inside: furnished, but in a scrappy, childish manner. There were a few old lawn chairs, probably from the junkyard, and a small, hastily made table consisting of a thick slice of tree trunk and a few wooden planks nailed on top. Knickknacks were scattered everywhere, along with a dozen empty cigarette packs and countless burned out cigarette stubs.

"Alright, Ratface, guard outside. Blimp, you too, but take the extra gun," the boss demanded. His goons nodded and scurried out, the larger one snatching the spare weapon from an old hatbox under one of the lawn chairs. Once the door was shut and the leader and I were alone, he turned to me and gave me a once-over.

"So… nice place you got here," I commented airily. He looked at me oddly.

"Do you always make small talk when you're in dangerous situations?"

"It's kind of a subconscious reaction."

"Right. Sit down," he ordered, indicating a rusty chair with his weapon.

"Aren't you gonna make a ransom call or whatever?" I took a seat in the offered chair

"Nah, it's too soon. It's better to wait a few hours; that really ups the panic levels and our income." He sat in a chair across from me, still clutching the gun. "So, tell me about yourself."

I looked up at him, startled. Since when do criminals give a damn about their hostages? I probably should've kept quiet, or at least lied to him. I mean, really… telling a man with a gun all about my personal life just should've been a big red no-no in my mind. But something about this guy made me feel like talking, and I kind of got a twisty, nauseous feeling in my gut when I considered lying my ass off. It almost felt like I'd be the jerk in this situation. Crazy, I know. But hey, I blame my stupid mental process on the insane situation I had been shoved into.

"Um… well, what do you want to know?" I asked curiously. I figured he was just passing time, and making conversation to make the few hours until the ransom call go by faster. He tilted his head slightly, subconsciously tonguing the edge of his bottom teeth in deep thought.

"I dunno, just start talking about yourself."

I sighed, glancing around for inspiration. It felt like those stupid first day of class interviews we always had to do back in junior high. You know, the ones where you ask your partner what you wanna be when you grow up or what your favorite color is.

"I like blue," I said dazedly. He gave me a confused look, lips twitching up slightly under the cut out sections of the ski mask.

"O… okay. I was kind of aiming for what you do for a living, but favorite color is a good start," he said, grinning a little. I felt my face turn a bit pink as I mentally went over what I had just said.

"Oh, right, right. Um… well I'm not really working yet; I just graduated from college a few weeks ago." I peeked back at him, and saw him nod in approval. "I… I'm living with my parents right now, but I'm moving into a little cottage next week. It's pretty, I guess."

"A cottage, huh? I always wanted to live in a house on a lake somewhere. Preferably where pretty much no one else lives," he spoke up suddenly. I blinked.

"That's… really weird. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to live in a lake house, too. But I wanted a tire swing in the yard somewhere." I shook off the odd feeling I got in my chest when the guy smiled at me. Now, don't get me wrong. I wasn't getting any fluttery oh-my-god-we're-so-similar-let's-be-best-friends vibes. Actually, I was just thinking… if this guy weren't breaking the law for his lunch money, we'd probably make good acquaintances. Or at least, we could look at real estate together.

He shook his head slightly, like he was snapping out of a daydream, and it caught my attention and brought me back to reality.

"Anyway…"

"Yeah. Um, I had a brother, but he died when I was twelve," I said, grabbing at the first topic I thought of to kill the awkward glob that had somehow surrounded us. He muttered something, and I swear it sounded like 'Denny', which had been my brother's name. "What?"

"Oh, um, nothing. Just a shame."

Something about those words made a small spark set off in me.

"What do you care about people dying?" I grouched, glaring at him. "Your minions were ready and eager to kill me an hour ago, but you think it's a _shame_ that some guy you don't know, whose death had no money value for you, died?" You gotta admit, I had a point. I fumed quietly, staring pointedly at him and waiting for his lame response.

"It's different," he insisted, not looking directly at me.

"How?"

"I… I know you. I won't let them kill you. Now."

I stared dumbly at him. Did this moron truly think that a few minutes of conversation qualified him as 'knowing me'? He knew my favorite color, my dream house, and the status of my sibling. Not exactly friend level, but that wasn't what was bothering me the most.

"So, it's okay if someone dies as long as you don't know them?"

"No! Jesus, we weren't even supposed to kill anyone! I mean, we're _supposed_ to, but hell if I was gonna have blood on my hands! Blimp just got excited. Don't give me that look; my 'minions', as you call them, didn't actually kill you, now did they?" I wiped the skeptical look away from my features and sighed. I didn't know how to retaliate. This guy was a thug, but it was like he didn't actually want to do the dirty work that came with the title. The man in front of me practically sent beams of confusion at me. "Please keep going. Do you have friends?"

I sighed. "Yeah, there's Ricky, who is pretty much as flamboyantly gay as it comes. The only gayer thing he could do is start cross-dressing, but I don't think his boyfriend would approve. He has it hard, though… people used to always beat the crap out of him, and it wasn't until he met me and this other guy that he actually had someone to protect him. But Ricky is amazing with logic… he can figure out stuff in like five seconds flat, all in his head. And there is no argument he can't win. Everyone who is willing to speak to him says he should become a philosopher. Then there's James, who is the epitome of the word 'nerd'. He even has a pocket protector. But he's like six-five and two hundred plus pounds, like a football player, and he has decent luck with girls. He was the other guy who helps to protect Ricky from assholes who gay-bash him. He's also the best listener… he's good with that emotional stuff, and he's the one I talk to about my problems, usually. And Simon… he's great, but his English is terrible. He just moved here from Japan like five months ago, but every girl in our dorm building was hot for him because he can cook like a professional. And then…" I paused, hesitating. Did Ella count as a friend? She wasn't exactly my true love or anything… I mean, she technically upholds the title of my girlfriend, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't even really like me.

"What?" The robber leaned forward, and a wave of surprise danced through me when I saw he looked genuinely interested.

"There's… Ella. She's nice enough, and I guess she's pretty, but she's kind of overly serious. She doesn't like a lot of the stuff I do; she thinks it's too childish. Ella hates the stories I write either… I'm a writer, by the way… and she thinks that lake houses and tire swings are stupid. She wants her small house with a white picket fence and her two point five kids. And she _despises_ my friends." I looked down at my fingers, flexing them weakly.

"There's something you're not telling me about this Ella," he stated bluntly. I glanced up, noticing for the first time that his eyes were a lovely shade of blue… and almost but not quite familiar, like some kind of ancient dream or forgotten memory.

"So? It's not like you need to know everything about her. What other things do you want to know about me?" I asked quickly, avoiding the subject of my girlfriend. It just felt uncomfortable. "Or, even more important, when are you making the damn ransom call so that I can get the hell out of here?" I hoped he'd catch on to the new topic and run with it. But damn my luck, he didn't take the bait.

"What is Ella in terms of her relationship with you?" He narrowed his eyes, as if he already suspected the answer I'd give him.

"She's… Ella is my girlfriend." He looked like I had just said she was taking over the world, and was personally coming down to stab all of the puppies in the eyes with a dull pitchfork. "And… if tomorrow plays out well, my fiancée."

He stood up so suddenly and violently that I nearly jumped off of my chair. He paced around the room crookedly as if avoiding spilt tacks on the ground.

"Fiancée?"

"Yeah. I mean, not yet, but… I kind of planned on taking her out to a nice restaurant tomorrow night and doing it there. Why?"

"Okay. Okay. You said that your friend is gay? As in, he likes other guys?" He looked at me, and although I couldn't be positive of his expression due to the ski mask, I was pretty sure he looked almost upset.

"Well, yeah, that's what I meant when I said he had a boyfriend. But what's that have to do with-"

"What if a guy were to like you?" I'm ninety five percent sure that I was gaping like a fish in a desert.

"What?"

"No, don't answer that." He smacked his hands down loudly on either side of the table, leaning forward and glaring at me intently.

"Okay-"

"Look, has there ever been a guy- no, that's not what I want to… would you ever… I don't know how to say this!" He groaned in frustration and slumped into one of the other chairs, which was conveniently positioned behind him.

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm a homo? Because if that's the case-"

"Do you love your fiancée?"

I probably should've lied. I could've said 'yes, of course' and gushed about how we were meant to be and all that mushy crap. But there was just something about the hypnotizing indigo of this guy's eyes and a strange quirking in my stomach that made it impossible for me to lie.

"No." I swear he deflated in what almost seemed like relief. He slumped his head down until his palms held up his forehead, his elbows stabbing into the table.

"Why the hell are you with someone you don't love?"

If I had a billionth of a penny for every time one of my three friends asked me that, or some form of that, I'd have a few trillion dollars. I sighed and rubbed at my temple with my pointer finger.

"I… guess I could fall for her, you know, with time. I didn't think I'd find the right one, so I hoped that being with her might make her into the one. Eventually."

"Liar."

"I'm not! I mean, I am, but I'm not!" I pouted at his eye roll.

"I think you know you'll never love her. You're not stupid; don't try to lie to me and tell me that she'll magically turn into 'the one' over time."

"Shut up! You don't know her! Maybe I do love her!"

"You don't."

"Maybe I'm just tired of waiting for someone better, ever think of that?"

"Maybe you're not looking for the right kind of person."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? She's pretty, and nice, and she may hate my friends but she doesn't discriminate against Ricky for being gay like most of the other girls out there! I don't really have more standards than that."

"I bet you do," he almost mocked. I glared.

"Like what, asshole?"

"I think you'd like her better if she had some more equipment between her legs," he said slyly. You could almost hear my teeth grinding.

"Wanna run that by me again?" He grinned a little, taking pride in the fact that he was successfully pissing me off.

"Well, you're friends with a gay guy-"

"Which doesn't make me gay!"

"You can't tell me that you're friends with a gay guy and his boyfriend and you've never considered being with another guy." I opened my mouth to protest angrily, but he didn't look like he was just pushing my buttons. He looked genuinely serious. I slid back in my lawn chair, my head drooping a bit.

"Maybe I have. But I wouldn't be with someone just because they're male. It's more like, I wouldn't _not_ be with someone I truly had feelings for just because they have the same parts as me." I glanced up at him dangerously. "What're you gonna do about it, kick the crap out of me for not being perfectly heterosexual like you?" He frowned.

"No, I don't mind. I wouldn't go telling the other guys, or really anyone else in this crappy town, if I were you. But I won't beat your ass." He paused, rethinking his choice of words, then grinned deviously. "Though I bet you'd like that."

"Shut the hell up!" Suddenly I realized how surreal the situation was. I know, I should've probably realized that earlier, but whatever. I looked around. I wasn't tied up, which was stupid on the robber's part. I could box him in the nose right now if I wanted to. Granted, he could shoot me in the face right after, but he'd still end up bruised. Also, instead of actually using me to drain my folks for money, he decided to 'wait a few hours' and instead have polite conversation and get to know me. And, ultimately, give me relationship advice and help me figure out my sexuality.

"So… have you ever met someone that might be the one?" He sounded just a tad too interested for my taste, and I didn't reply right away. He must've gotten impatient, because he stood rapidly and swung his lawn chair right up to mine. He sat back down, and stared at me with those goddamn blue eyes, as if trying to shoot lasers from them, pierce my skull, and suck the answer right from my brain. Subconsciously, I leaned back, putting a few more inches between us. Sighing loudly, I gave in.

"No. I could swear I said this earlier, and I still am trying to grasp the fact that I'm discussing my relationship issues with my abductor, but I haven't found her yet."

"It could be a him."

"You gotta stop that. I feel like you're hitting on me, and considering that you have a gun and plan to hold me hostage, it's creeping the hell out of me," I snapped. The guy had the audacity to laugh- I had been dead serious! You can't tell me that having another guy asking me if my soul mate could be a guy is normal. Especially considering how I had already told him that I have a girlfriend who I'm freaking proposing to. The guy seemed nice enough, or at least, for a criminal, but I didn't even really discuss stuff like this with Ricky James and Simon.

"I'm not, I swear. It's just… you've never felt like that? For anyone? Like, there's just that one person who you could talk about anything with, and who makes you feel half empty when they're not there… you've never felt that?" My jaw was probably dangling close to the crappy table at that point. Because the thing is, that's kind of how I used to feel about that kid Chris I mentioned earlier. Completely in a platonic way, mind you, but still, he was my best friend and not having him around anymore made my life suck a whole lot.

"There… was this one person who I used to be friends with. Best friends, actually, but we stopped talking a few years ago. But we could talk about everything… I miss him so much sometimes," I muttered, picking at a splinter on the surface of the table.

"It was a guy."

"No!" I half-shouted defensively. It was a guy, but this wacko robber didn't need to know that.

"You said him. You said, and I quote, 'I miss _him_ so much'. Don't be a jackass and deny it. It's not like I'm gonna judge you," he commented, running his fingers lightly over the gun, which was now clutched loosely in one hand and rested on the table.

"Okay, whatever… yeah, it was a guy. But he was my best friend since… Jesus, I can't even remember. But after high school, he just stopped talking to me. And at first I figured it was just because of college, you know? We had to settle down and get adjusted and all that. But… then I tried to call him, and I _know_ that I had the right number, but he wouldn't pick up. So I tried to go visit him at college, but his room mate gave me some stupid story about having to go visit a sick aunt." At that point, I was cursing the fact that I am a naturally emotional guy. I could feel the tears start to settle themselves on the edges of my lower eyelids as the pain of being ignored and forgotten came stabbing back. "So that summer after freshman year, I went to visit his house. His mother answered, and said that he wasn't home, but to knock on his window later that night, so that I wouldn't disturb his dad. So that night I went to his window… and I could see his outline behind the curtain, and I knocked and knocked…" Tears were streaming steadily down my cheeks at this point. I knew I shouldn't be telling this much to someone who might use it against me, especially considering how emotional this is, but it was like a terrible case of word vomit. I couldn't stop. "And he started walking toward the window, but then he just froze, like he realized who was knocking before he even pushed aside the curtains. And then… he just ran. He left his room, and I don't know where he went, but he must've locked himself somewhere in his house. It didn't matter; I didn't go after him. I _knew_ he did it on purpose, and it hurt so much. I walked home… that was the hardest I had ever cried." I glanced up at him, and felt an earthquake of shame and stupidity take over me. I just broke down in front of some stranger… some idiot Cobra who wanted to cause hell in people's lives.

But he didn't look like… well, anything I'd expect a Cobra to look like after given crap to blackmail someone with. He actually looked kind of miserable, or upset or something… I don't really know; it was hard to tell because of his stupid ski mask.

"Maybe he didn't want to hold you back in life." The guy spoke so quietly I almost didn't hear him over the headache throbbing through my ears and skull. I peered at him, and all at once I went from sad to furious.

"It better as hell not be for that reason! This guy… he should've known that I'd rather be poorer than a city hobo and have him as a friend than be the richest person in the world and not have him with me."

"Maybe he… maybe he had a secret that he didn't want you to know. Or something," he added as an afterthought. I watched him suspiciously, but brushed off the odd feeling that I got when he seemed to have relatively logical replies to everything. Like he _knew_ Chris and I.

"No, that's ridiculous. We told each other everything. I was the one he talked to about all of his problems. He knew I'd understand anything he had to say."

"Not everything, maybe," the robber remarked. I glared and huffily crossed my arms.

"Oh yeah? And just what, Oh One Who Thinks He Knows Everything, would he not be able to say to me?"

"Maybe he was in love with you." Gotta say, that was about the last thing I expected to hear. Or ever think about. For a solid five or so minutes, I couldn't think of anything to say. Chris? In love with me? On a scale of ridiculousness, from one to ten, that was about a six trillion. I guess.

But… when I really started to think about it, it seemed to make a teeny bit of sense. I mean, not that he was in love with me; that was just absurd. But I mean, I could see why this guy, the masked felon sitting across from me, might assume that Chris and I were something more. Hell, half the town used to accuse us of screwing each other's ass. We even got beat up for it a couple of times before. I've been told I give off that vibe, even though I've had a fair share of girlfriends.

"I don't think so."

"What if he did?"

"He didn't."

"But what if he did? You'd hate him, right? That's probably why he stopped talking to you!" He looked like he was about to cry.

"I'd never hate you, Chris," I whispered, not really monitoring what spewed from my mouth.

Which, of course, is why he froze and stared at me. I realized what I had said exactly three and a half seconds later, and felt my mouth open and close rapidly a few times.

"What?"

"I said… I'd never hate him."

"You said… you said Chris."

"No I didn't."

"You called me Chris."

"No I didn't!"

There was a long pause where I desperately tried to suck the memory from his mind with my eyes, and he looked like he was fighting an internal battle. Before I could even think of a relatively good excuse for what I said, he sighed and stood up.

"Don't hate me, Gordie."

As my mind attempted to wrap around how the hell this guy knew my name, he reached around his neck and grasped the ski mask, and proceeded to tear it off. It was then chucked a few feet away, probably landing on the dirty plywood floor.

But I wasn't looking at the mask.

His hair was ruffled and his eyes were clamped shut, but I recognized that face immediately. Hell, I knew that face better than my own.

"Chris."

"Hi, Gordo," he mumbled weakly. It felt like a million different emotions were sewing their way through my body at once. I couldn't really identify individual ones, and a surge of confusion and adrenaline shot me forwards, tackling the blonde to the ground in a bear hug. All I heard was a muffled grunt, but it triggered realization. I pulled back and sat up, using my hands to pin down Chris by his shoulders.

"Chris, what the hell?"

"Gordie, let me explain-"

"Why did you stop talking to me?"

"Listen-"

"And why'd you kidnap me?"

"Gord-"

"Why the hell are you with the Cobras?"

"I-"

"Why'd you say you might be in love with me?"

"Becau-"

"Did you leave me because you thought you'd be holding me back?"

"Just-"

"Because if that's the case, I'm gonna kick your-"

"GORDIE!" He slapped a large palm over my mouth, effectively silencing me. I watched an amused smile flicker across his lips, but it was almost immediately replaced with a pained, tired expression. He glanced down in thought, and I noticed his cheeks turned slightly red. "Um, maybe we should go sit up in the chairs… you're kinda…" I looked down, following his gaze, and saw what he meant. I was currently straddling his hips and sitting directly on his crotch. I jumped up quickly, but forgot about the table behind me, and I ended up tipping backwards and tumbling over the item of furniture. After a sloppy backwards roll and a solid 'thunk' from my head introducing itself to the floor, I ended up sprawled half on my lawn chair and half on the hardwood flooring. I mentally took a few seconds to make sure my skull hadn't made itself into a miniature Grand Canyon.

"You okay down there?" I lifted my head slowly to see Chris leaning over the table looking slightly concerned. Gradually, I lifted myself back into the lawn chair that I was partially on anyway, nodding at the other guy. Chris sat back down in his own chair, and caught my pointed look. He sighed loudly.

"Well? Start explaining."

"Where do you want me to start?" I thought for a second.

"Why are you with the Cobras?"

He looked down at his fingers, which he started to aimlessly patter against the table. "It's just what I'm doing now."

"But why? You're a college graduate, and you're risking that with this crap?"

"I dropped out of college," he muttered. That took a second to process, but once I computed his words, rage came thrashing through me like a tornado on steroids.

"Come again?" He at least had the decency to look away.

"I dropped out." He jumped when my fists slammed into the table.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you _forget_ how hard we worked for you to get in? I spent every goddamn day of my life from eighth grade through twelfth grade working with you to get you into college! You were doing so well, finally getting yourself out of this damn town! What the hell happened?" I was shouting now, and some part of my mind wondered why his two cronies weren't checking out why I was being so noisy, but the majority of my brain was all for the idea of stabbing Chris in the cornea with the splinter I had earlier been playing with.

"Well… after the first semester, I was already failing most of my classes. I stayed for the rest of the school term, but I dropped out that summer. They would've kicked me out anyway, because of my grades."

"Why the hell were you failing? You're smart, Chris! You were doing so well…" At that point, I began to deflate, feeling the burst of energy [which had probably been fueled by rage] leave my body quickly. I sagged slightly in my chair, looking at him with what was probably remorse.

"I didn't have you to help me." Rage came back tenfold.

"AND WHOSE GOD DAMN FAULT WAS THAT?" I clenched my fists even tighter, turning my knuckles cloud-white. Chris flinched as my voice spiked loudly.

"I…"

"You what? You freaking _what_? What goddamn excuse could you possibly give me for leaving me like that? You- you just stopped talking to me! Like I was an old shoe you could just throw away when you didn't wanna use it anymore! And… the window! I saw you just… you just walked away that night…" Tears started pouring back down my face, but it was twice as hard as before. Through the blurriness I could see Chris had droplets trickling down to his jaw as well.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he offered lamely. That was the wrong answer. Hell, that's almost always the wrong answer.

"Yeah, well you did!"

"I know, and I'm so sorry, Gordie… I just couldn't deal with it anymore."

"With what? Me? You couldn't deal with me anymore?" I shuddered as I heard my own voice. It wasn't filled with anger anymore, but I sounded broken and hopelessly miserable. It matched my emotions perfectly.

"Of course not!" I glared at him weakly through my still-flowing tears. He flopped his forehead down on the table. Suddenly he stood up, teetering a bit, and walked to the far corner of the room. He looked down at the gun still tangled in his fingers, contemplating something. Finally he turned back to me. "Okay, I promise to tell you, mostly because I need to get this off my chest, and also because we're already not friends, so I can't do much more damage. But I'm keeping the gun ready, so when I tell you, don't flip out at me, okay?"

"Did you just threaten your old best friend with a gun?"

"Do you want me to come clean or not?" he snapped, staring me down. I sulked, but nodded anyway. "Okay, remember how before, we were discussing why I might've left you? You know, back when you didn't know who I was."

"Yeah, yeah, what about it?"

"Remember the reasoning I gave you?"

"No, what… wait…" I thought back to the earlier conversation. He had said that Chris could've left because he thought he was holding me back. But we already covered that. He knows how pissed off I got about that. Then he had said that Chris might've had a secret, right? But that's ridiculous, except then he said… he said… "You're in love with me?"

"Bingo." He slumped down in the corner, letting his back slide down the wall slowly. I sat still for a while, letting it sink in. At first, it was just five words that meant nothing to me. Then I began to realize the meaning of the individual words. That still left me confused, until my brain squished them together into a coherent thought. Eventually, about ten minutes later, I applied them to the situation. And my brain nearly exploded.

"Wait, _what_? You what now? You can't love me, not more than platonically! I mean, you _can_, but I didn't think you did!" I paused, and glanced over at him. He sat in the corner in a small ball, looking so miniscule and fragile that I almost felt sorry for him. But then I thought of something, and all thoughts of forgiveness flew out my ear into oblivion. "Wait, you stopped talking to me because you have a crush on me? You're kidding, right?"

"Um, no…" He looked confused, as if trying to figure out if I was angry about his feelings or not. I know he went into the corner to put space between us, but I stomped over anyway and crouched to look him in the eye.

"You stopped talking to your best friend in the whole world, who you could tell anything, who would never judge or hate you, because you got the tinglies in your tummy when you saw me? Is that what you're telling me?" He nodded carefully. "You are a goddamn retard. If I didn't miss you so much, I'd tell you to go screw."

"So… does that mean you're not grossed out by the fact that I'm part homo?"

"The term is bisexual, jackass." I sighed, but didn't move from my position in front of him. "I don't care that you're not straight, Chris. Hell, I'm friends with Ricky, aren't I? And… okay, I gotta be honest. I don't know how exactly I'm going to respond to your feelings. But… jeez, the last four years of my life were hell because you couldn't tell me? That… you owe me four years of my life."

"I know." I looked his face over for a moment, then stood and offered him a hand.

"Come on." He accepted it and I pulled him up, almost immediately releasing his hand in order to cross my arms. "Here's what's going to happen. You are coming back to my parents' house with me. We're going to fix up your life, and you're going to be my best friend again, got it? You will quit the Cobras, and next week we'll start looking for a lake house. We should be able to move into one by the end of the summer. I will go to my job, and you will go back to college. And you will never hide another humungous god damn secret from me again."

He stared at me like I had a tree growing from my nose. I shifted my feet impatiently, placing more weight on one foot and sticking my hip out a bit.

"Right… well, whenever you decide to come back to reality, you'll notice that I can't leave the Cobras, because I won't live for more than a week afterwards. I can't go back to college, considering that I don't have enough money and I flunked and dropped out. I can't move into some lake house with you because you have a fiancée and you're moving into a cottage. And I will definitely end up not telling you secrets because I can't be your friend." I gaped at him, confused on that last part. "Come on, you're not that oblivious. Half of the reason I stopped talking to you was because I was afraid of what you'd think of me. The other half was because it's just too hard to be friends with you and know that that's all it'll ever be. I'm sorry, Gordo. Your little world you live in sounds amazing, and I'm so proud and happy that you're doing so well in life. But I won't just put myself through the same pain that I ran away from at the start."

It may have seemed like a final decision to anyone else, but I knew what his little speech really was. He was giving me an ultimatum. I could walk away from this, pretend nothing ever happened, and just go back to my by-the-book life. Or I could not only accept his feelings, but also return them, and choose an unpredictable, rocky life with him. Option one guaranteed me my white picket fence and two point five kids, and a nice quiet life with a beautiful girl who my parents actually accepted. Option two pretty much promised me exile from the town if anyone found out, a few dozen good beatings from the Cobras, a permanent rejection from my parents for dumping Ella, and only a fifty-fifty chance that I'd get the lake house of my dreams. I'd also have to work extra hard to keep my job _and_ work with Chris to get him back into college, and I'd have to work late every night with him to keep his grades good. I'd also have to face being not-quite-straight and come to terms with the fact that I'd be spending the rest of my life with a guy, my ex-best friend, with whom my relationship clearly isn't perfect or indestructible. I'd also have to keep Ricky from making a move on Chris… he always had a thing for blondes.

So it was either a life of peace and contentment, or a life of absolute social exile and constantly fighting just to make the days relatively all right.

But I'd have Chris. And that meant more than the world to me. So, very slowly, I leaned forward, keeping my eyes locked on his confused ones the entire time. Eventually my face was close enough to his, and I tilted my head slightly and pressed forward that last inch. Our lips pressed together lightly, with hardly any pressure, as if we had just learned what kissing was. Chris let out a small whimper, and I pulled back, observing his face for a reaction.

"Wh… what was…?" He looked at me, still in a daze. I smiled a little.

"What was that?" He nodded. "Before you told me who you were, I said that I'd rather be dirt poor with you than richer than a king without you. That pretty much applies still."

"So… does this mean you like me?" It sounded like such a fourth grade girly question to ask that I burst out laughing. Chris narrowed his eyes, obviously misunderstanding. He took a few haggard steps backwards. "You don't have to laugh at me, asshole. You could just say no." I stopped my giggling immediately.

"I wasn't saying no. It's just, you sounded like a little kid, asking me like that." He crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip a bit, pouting. I smirked and moved forward. "So come back with me. Please, Chris?"

"But… what about Eva?"

"Ella."

"Whatever. You were going to propose to her. Tomorrow! Did you forget about that already?" He looked genuinely concerned, like he was worried that reminding me of her would make me suddenly want to run back to her. Actually, it reminded me of the chunk of box hidden away in my jeans pocket. Making a quick, though relatively stupid decision, I shoved two fingers in my back pocket and fished out the small, black velvet cube. When I brought it in Chris's view, his eyebrows scrunched together and his nose crinkled up a bit in puzzlement.

"I'm not going to propose to her. But… I got this ring, see?" I opened the box to reveal a lovely silver band with small gems scattered in it and carved swirls engraved into the surface. I plucked the ring out, turning it over in my fingers. "It's pretty big, isn't it? Ella had thick fingers for a girl. But it's not for her anymore."

"You could probably return it… you might get all of your money back," Chris suggested. I smiled easily, shaking my head in a negative. Reaching down, I grabbed his left hand, and lifted it to my chest level, prying the fingers apart gently. When the finger between his pinky and middle finger was spread apart from the others enough, I gently slipped the band around it, grinning as it fit only with slight wiggle room.

"Perfect." I released the hand and smiled back up at Chris. "_Now_ can we go?" But he didn't seem to hear me. He stared down at his hand, which had not descended after I had let go. His lips were parted and his eyes were trying to focus.

"Did… you just put an engagement ring on my finger?" I felt myself flush.

"Well, I thought we had already established that you'd be taking Ella's place." He quirked an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes. "I thought you'd be my boyfriend."

"I… are you sure you want that?" I opened my mouth to reply but he cut me off. "Because you better not be doing this out of pity. If that's the reason, then I don't want this." He tugged at the ring, trying to pry it off. I grabbed his hand to stop him.

"No, stop it… of course this isn't out of pity; I'm not stupid enough to do that. And if I have to tell you one more time that I'd rather have you in my life than not, I will knock you out with a lawn chair and _drag_ you to my house." I took a step towards the closest chair to prove my point. Chris scanned my face for any hint of dishonesty or uncertainty, but apparently liked what he saw because the next thing I knew I was thrown over his shoulder and he was tearing out of the shack. I felt a light wind smack at the strip of skin now visible because my shirt was riding halfway up my back.

"Boss, what…?" Ratface paced after us, looking startled at his leader's sudden departure. Chris whipped around, nearly dislodging me. "Where are you taking the hostage?"

"Oh, um…" He looked at me, clearly haven forgotten about the two Cobras keeping guard outside. "He hasn't been cooperative, so I'm taking him somewhere else to… persuade him into talking. You two stay here, but you can go inside now. I'll be back when I've got a number that we can call for the ransom." With that, he spun back around and kept charging through the woods. After a few minutes of bopping up and down on his shoulder, I finally decided to ask what the hell just happened.

"What the hell just happened?" He turned his head to look at me, but he only managed to see the back of my legs and my butt.

"What do you mean? It was your idea."

"It was my idea for you to throw me over your shoulder, stampede from your little hideout, lie your ass off to your cronies, and walk through woods to god knows where?" He slapped one of my legs with the hand that wasn't clutching me to his shoulder.

"No, smartass. You wanted us to go to your parents' house, right? You just gave me a huge ass speech about how we'd find a lake house and I'd go back to college and all that. If we stayed in that stupid house, Ratface and Blimp would get impatient and probably try to kill you. I'm thinking that leaving would be more logical."

Something moved behind a nearby tree, and I tensed. Chris must've felt it, because he slowed down and shifted me a bit.

"Chris."

He turned just as I saw something move again, and he gently set me down. I felt him follow my gaze towards the trees behind him. Out stepped a figure. A very freaking huge figure.

"Blimp." The whale of a man stepped closer to us, holding up the spare gun from before. Chris subtly shifted in front of me a little, and I had to dig my teeth into the inside of the corner of my lip to keep from smiling. After all these years, he was still protective of me. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't play stupid, Chambers. I heard you… you're taking the hostage! You're a traitor to the Cobras." Blimp took a few steps closer, pointing the gun straight at Chris's head. I lifted my hand and clutched the back of Chris's shirt nervously. His only reaction was slightly leaning back and pressing more against my hand, and even though it was almost nothing, it made me feel a whole lot better.

"Don't be dumb, Blimp. Of _course_ I'd lie to the hostage. Do you really think I'd feel safe walking through the woods at night with him? Even with my gun, it was better to make him think I was on his side." If I couldn't tell when Chris was making up a story like this, I would've probably freaked out right then. But he does this weird thing when he's not telling the truth; he swings his right hip out a bit and tilts his shoulders, and when he's passing off a huge lie, like right then, he'd tilt his head a bit forward. Not that I've frequently observed him before or anything… but when you're friends with someone from toddler to adult, you get to know their quirks whether you want to or not.

Blimp seemed to not know of these subtle telltale signs, though, because he slowly lowered his gun.

"Well, you ruined it now; he knows you were lying," the big man declared. "Want me to walk you through the woods?"

"Yeah." I turned to glare at Chris; the shock must've been scribbled all over my face. But he didn't turn to look at me; instead he pressed back into the hand that was still clutching the back of his shirt, and I kind of got the message. At least, I got the general hint that he knew what he was doing. "You walk ahead of us, and keep your eyes peeled." God, I always hated that saying. Who the hell thought of peeling their eyes? Nasty.

Blimp nodded dutifully and stalked off in the opposite direction of the shack. Chris started a few paces after him, hooking my elbow with his hand and tugging me along with him. I didn't protest, and kept the same pace as him as we trudged through the thick trees and tangled bushes. We must've walked for around fifteen or twenty minutes, and though I wasn't tired at all, the boredom was drilling into my ears.

"Almost there," Chris announced suddenly. Without looking back at us, Blimp nodded, but Chris's quick glance and small smile at me made it obvious that the declaration had been for my sake. I let the corner of my lips lift a bit, showing him my gratitude while not over doing it, in case Blimp turned around.

When we did reach the other edge of the wooded area, Blimp turned back and looked me up and down.

"I can walk you to wherever it is you're going, if you want," he offered. Chris shook his head almost too quickly.

"Nah, I got him. Besides, there are too many Cobras around town for him to try anything stupid." Blimp nodded at him and started his journey back through the woods. Chris stood still and watched him until the large man's figure couldn't be seen any longer. I gave it two more minutes before I decided to speak up.

"Now what?" Chris glanced at me, and then cast a glare around the town. "Chris?"

"Can we go to your house?" He released the grip on my elbow at last, although I hadn't minded it too much.

"Yeah, but… um…"

"What?"

"Ella's coming over tonight. She's already there, I'll bet. What time is it?" He shrugged, and a quick glance to his hands showed that no watch adorned his wrists. I rubbed at my eyes with my pointer and thumb fingers of one hand, trying to ebb away the headache that was threatening to migrate to the deep innards of my skull. "Alright… I know this is gonna end up as one of those things that just erupts in our faces, but this was part of the plan, right? So maybe I can hide you somewhere in the house until I pack my stuff and break it off with Ella."

"Can't you just hide me in your bedroom like you used to when we were little?" He must've been thinking back on the days when my parents refused to house Chris, and I'd stuff him in my closet or under my bed, and I'd keep him locked in my room for the night… or longer if his parents were really being hard. Of course, I'd let him out for the bathroom and I snuck him food after each meal. But it was different.

"I can't. I share that room with Ella." He stared at me, and I began to shift my weight on my feet awkwardly. I knew exactly what thought had just passed through his head. Chris and I used to share the same bed that Ella spreads herself out on every night. Especially when I started studying with Chris during Junior High, he would be sleeping over at my house almost nightly. And since I didn't own a second mattress or anything remotely comfortable in my room besides the one bed, we'd end up squishing together. Granted, we woke a few mornings snuggled together and in embarrassing positions, but the awkwardness usually was dusted off after about ten minutes.

"Oh." That was all he said in reply. I sighed internally and started to walk off towards my house.

"Come on, we have to do this."

We ended up being silent the entire walk to my house, but I didn't necessarily mind. What the hell could I possibly say to him? I didn't even know what topic would be appropriate to bring up. When we finally turned down my block and approached the house itself, I turned to my friend. Ex friend. I don't really know.

"I assume we're not using the front door," Chris commented obviously. I shot him a look and pointed to the window on the second floor.

"You're gonna have to get up there." He stared at me.

"I'm not fifteen anymore."

"You're twenty three! That's not old. Climb up there." I jabbed a finger at the window for emphasis. He pouted for a moment, but when he realized that his shoved out lower lip and big blue eyes weren't working, he huffed and stormed over to the vine-covered siding of the house.

His pout _had_ been working, and two more seconds of it would've had me carrying him upstairs myself. He just looks like a little kid or a kicked puppy or something when he does the stupid pouting.

I walked back to the front of my house and let myself in, almost immediately heading for my room. I opened the door, prepared to let Chris right in and stuff him in a closet or something. Instead, I opened my cracked bedroom door to find a very pissed off Ella and a very nervous Chris.

"Gordon, what the hell is this?" Ella demanded. That's another thing I don't like about her. She blatantly refuses to call me Gordie like the rest of the world, and I always feel like she's yelling at me when she uses my full name. Especially when she said it in a tone like she was currently using.

"Um, I can explain."

"Why is there a strange man claiming to be with you in our room?" She looked ready to punch out one of us, so I quickly thought of how to put it without pissing her off.

"See, Ella, he's my childhood best friend. And I just met up with him today, completely by coincidence, and so I invited him over…" She wasn't pleased with the response, I could tell.

"Why is he in our room?" It's like she hadn't even heard me when I used to tell her stories of how Chris, although I had left him unnamed, used to sneak in and we'd stay up all night acting like little kids up until we were eighteen. Not that the stories would necessarily explain the current situation, but she shouldn't have been peering at him like he was going to whip out a gun and demand all of our money. Which, ironically, is what got us in the situation in the first place. But she didn't know that.

"I let him in. Ella, it's _my_ room, and he was my childhood best friend. It's not a huge deal."

"Don't you speak to me like that, Gordon. This is _our_ room, you are _my_ boyfriend, and since _I've_ never met this friend, I don't want him here."

"It's not really up to you whether he stays in my room or not-"

"No, I mean that I don't want him in this house." I stared at her, and Chris shifted uncomfortably in my peripheral. I glanced over at him, and saw the one emotion I never wanted to see on his face, ever.

See, Chris's home life was crap. His parents didn't want him, not really. His older brother Eyeball didn't want him around, either. This whole situation between us, where we weren't speaking, was because he didn't think I would want him around after he told me his secret. So when I saw that look, that heartbreaking look of knowing he wasn't wanted on his face, and realized that it was Ella's fault, I made a split decision.

"Ella, I was going to wait to tell you this, or at least give myself more time to think of how to say this without being too mean." Chris's jaw dropped when he realized what I was doing.

"What, Gordon? Is it another lame excuse as to why there is a stranger in our bedroom, who was sitting on our bed like he was actually welcome there?"

"Ella, it's over."

Insert long awkward pause here where she gaped like a goldfish and Chris looked like he _really_ didn't want to be there.

"What?"

"It's over. Look, we don't get along, you hate my friends, and you can't even call me by my nickname! I don't have feelings for you, Ella. And there's no way you actually have feelings for me."

"You're breaking up with me? But… but your mother just told me you were planning on proposing soon!" How the hell did my mother know that?

"How the hell did my mother know that?" I shouted.

"James told her. He was trying to get her to talk you out of it, but she just banned him from the house. She said you already bought a ring…" I automatically glanced at Chris, which turned out to be a huge mistake. Ella followed my gaze. For some reason, her gaze traveled unconsciously over to Chris. More specifically, his ring finger. Even more specifically, the shiny ring on the meaningful appendage. Her mouth was so wide that I thought her bottom jaw was falling off for a second. "No."

"Ella, it's not-"

"Is that my engagement ring?" Her voice was so deadly soft and monotone that I shivered, and Chris quickly shoved his left hand in his back jean pocket. "You gave… _my_ engagement ring… to another man."

"Ella, listen. That's not your ring. I'm not proposing to you, and I'm ending this relationship. And now I'm going to have to ask you to leave this house." I waited for the eruption, but it never came. Instead, she walked over to the closet and pulled out her only suitcase, and started darting around the room and picking out her few items. It only took about two minutes, and she turned for the door. Opening it, she looked back over her shoulder at me.

"I know we weren't happy. And I won't lie and say that I love you, or that this will hurt me for the rest of my life. But I will tell you that your parents don't love you either. And the only reason that they're even paying miniscule attention to you is because they love me."

_That_ hurt. Usually, insults from Ella were scrubbed right off like they were squished flies being wiped off a windshield. But that last one… it was so unbelievably true. The reality of that statement was the one thing that haunted my entire childhood like the boogeyman in a little kid's closet. I _know_ I visibly flinched when she said that, partly from how I stumbled a bit and partly because I saw Chris start to go over to me and then quickly restrain himself.

"That… it's not…" I couldn't get out words. What the hell was I supposed to say? I couldn't argue that it wasn't true, because everyone in that room knew it very well was. I couldn't say it wasn't her business, because she was right in that she was the only reason my parents weren't ignoring me and pretending I didn't exist.

"Don't even try to contradict me. Anyway, how did you plan on telling your parents about your stupid decision? Because I will be telling them just how it is when they ask me. You decided not to get married and the engagement ring that should have been on my finger is on another man's." She must've seen the fury building in me, because she rolled her eyes. "That's not a threat. I couldn't care less what they do to you once I'm gone. It's just fact." She turned and slammed the door behind her, leaving Chris and I alone in a room filled to the brim with awkwardness.

"Damn," Chris muttered. "This… I'm so sorry, Gordo."

"What are you sorry for?" I asked, confused.

"This is all my fault." I stared at him. What part of me breaking up with that jerk Ella was his fault? Granted, he could've hid the damn ring, but that was Ella's fault for interpreting things wrongly.

"No, it's not. Sit down, Chris," I said, indicating the bed. He paused for a moment, as if afraid that Ella would come storming back and swat him back off it. But eventually he did collapse on the bed, springing back up slightly with the force of his weight on the mattress. I looked him up and down for a moment, taking in his dark clothing, perfect for robberies, and his blue eyes, deep and pretty as always. He rocked a bit when I sat next to him, though my lighter weight didn't move either of us too much.

"I didn't expect to see you at the store. You know, earlier. And when you talked back to Ratface about the money, and I realized it was you… Jesus. I can't even explain how awesome it was just… to see you. Of course, I would've rather seen you under different circumstances, but…" He stopped rambling and glanced down at me. I nodded, in case he was looking for a sign that I had heard him, but there wasn't really much more for me to say. "Gordie." I looked up at the soft tone and the abrupt seriousness in his voice. "You know that I don't doubt your judgement, or your sincerity. But if this isn't what you really want… hell, you haven't even really thought about your sexuality! And you're already jumping to make this- us- a real deal. I just… are you positive?"

"Chris, I know that I should probably go off for a month and not talk to you and think about if I'm really bisexual or not, or if I really like you like that, but to be honest, I'm sick of you not being around. If I have to go through another _week_ of not being your friend, or whatever we are now, I'm going to have a mental breakdown. Got it?" He nodded, and I smiled, settling back on the mattress, just barely missing the wall with the top of my head. Chris looked at me for a moment, and then nodded. He swung one arm on the other side of my chest, pressing into the bed, and leaned over me.

"Yeah, I got it." With that, he leaned down slowly, making me feel like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or something. After what felt like twenty minutes, he finally kissed me. But it wasn't like before, where it was barely there and nothing fun happened. Oh no, this one had tongue all over the place. As we kept going, he slowly leaned himself onto me, careful not to squish my torso into the bed too much. I hooked my arms around his neck, using them for leverage to pull him even closer, though I don't think that was really possible.

After a good half hour of making out, he pulled back and looked at me. I sat up slowly, not wanting to go too fast and smash my face into his.

"That was fun," I commented casually. He smiled, probably glad that I hadn't thrown up all over his lap or something. "So, I think we should pack my stuff and get out of here as soon as possible, hm?"

"Right. And where do you plan to go?"

"I'm serious," I said at his mocking tone. "If we don't want my parents to kick us out and make a public scene, we should probably am-scray." He tilted his head, thinking it over. As soon as he nodded, I stood and began to grab my things. "James has a big truck we can borrow, and we can stay at his house for a few days until we get the lakehouse. Let me call him real quick, and then we can get going."

"So this is the infamous Chris?" James asked, shaking my best friend's hand politely. The nerdy guy towerd over Chris by a good five inches, but Chris wasn't intimidated. "Heard a lot about you. And you better never leave this small-fry again, or he'll throw another four-year long hissy fit." Chris laughed, but shot me a smile that assured me he wouldn't. We had finally packed all of my stuff, including my mattress and the small television I had in my room into James's truck. James had no problem whatsoever with having two guests for awhile, and liked Chris right away. James _had_ been the first friend I had told about Chris, and was the one I had gone to whenever I had felt upset about it all through college. Which had been a lot of times.

"Don't worry, he's stuck with me now," Chris said, looking at me questioningly. I had no idea what he wanted to know, which was weird because I used to know exactly what he'd want to ask before even he knew. My Chris-reading skill must've been rusty from years of no use. When he saw my confusion, he subtly poked his left ring finger in my direction. Then it clicked; he wanted to know if it was okay to tell James about us. I smiled at him and grabbed his hand, entwining my fingers with his.

"He better not leave me, or he'll have a very pissy boyfriend to deal with," I said, knowing James would pick up on it immediately.

"Ha! Ricky owes me ten bucks! I _knew_ you guys would get together!" Okay, that was not _exactly_ the response I had expected. I was going for more of a 'congratulations!' Or at least, a 'you guys make a nice couple' or something along those lines.

"You guys had a bet going on me?"

"Yep. Though I'm surprised Ricky didn't think you guys would get together. He's unbelievably into that two-guys-getting-together-and-living-happily-ever-after stuff."

"Yeah, that does seem more Ricky-like. Oh, I also wanted to ask about his boyfriend, because you know he has a thing for blondes, and…" I lifted Chris and my hands pointedly. James smirked.

"No need, Shorty. Elliot _proposed_. They're going to Canada or something to get hitched sometime next year," James stated. I grinned, more than happy for my friend.

"Awesome! Ooh, now we have a formal event to go to as a thing!" I told Chris, shaking our connected hands excitedly. James rolled his eyes, probably at me using the term 'thing' for me and Chris, and set off to start unpacking the stuff in his truck. He decided that it would be best to keep my stuff in his garage, since he already had enough furniture in his little house that he shared with his older brother. Chris and I began lugging bags into the cramped garage, shoving things everywhere. "I really don't know how to thank you enough, man. I mean, we already know what we want, and I had kind of been secretly looking at lake houses when I was house shopping with Ella, so I know of a few that I can afford and want to look at. We shouldn't be here too long, but it still means a lot. If there's anything we can do-"

"Now that you mentioned it, I'm out of milk. Can you guys run to the store and get a gallon? You can use my truck, but I gotta get inside and start dinner." He threw us his car keys, and started off towards his front door.

Chris and I walked up to the familiar market, which I had been buying milk in only hours ago. A few feet away from the door, Chris grabbed my arm, stopping me from marching forward.

"What if they recognize me?" I knew instantly what he meant. If the guy at the register or the manager or someone realized that Chris was one of the robbers from before, he would be toast.

"Just don't talk. If I couldn't recognize you with that ski mask on, no one in here will realize it had been you. But you did talk before, so just stay quiet, okay?" He nodded, and I led him in the store.

"Hello, Mister Lachance. You don't seem to be missing your Mister Chambers anymore. How are you today?"

I had forgotten about the welcomer. I turned slowly to look at the tiny old man, and nearly started crying. He had a knowing look in his eye as he smiled genuinely up at us, like he _knew_ that there was more to us than met the eye. For a moment, I had no idea what to say. For the past four years, it had always been, 'You seem to be missing Mister Chambers'. But… he said _your_ Mister Chambers just now. He knew. He had to.

I cleared my throat.

"Excuse me, Sir, but you have us at a disadvantage. You know our names, but I don't know yours." He looked utterly surprised, like no one had ever asked for his name before.

"It's Mr. Richardson, but you may call me Jesse," he said, sounding pleased that I actually cared. That thought made me feel sad that he had no one who really cared about him or even talked to him.

"Well, then, hello, Jesse. How are you today?" I swear, he almost fainted; he was so shocked.

"F-fine, sir. Have a nice day," he said, grinning excitedly. I mentally vowed from then on to always greet the little man back every time I came in.

Chris and I made our way to the mild aisle silently. Only when he had a gallon in his hand, and we still stood there staring down the rest of the milks did he speak.

"I remember him," he muttered.

"Yeah."

"It's like he's never been appreciated before." I looked up at the glass case of the milk, noticing our reflections. Chris looked so natural next to me, like there was no question that he belonged there. I found myself smiling at how many butterflies were swarming in my stomach from looking at the reflection of us.

"He probably has never been in love." Chris looked at our reflections too, meeting my eyes in the glassy mirror image.

"Yeah." Not even bothering to look around for other people, I reached over and shimmied my hand into his, looping our fingers together.

"That's gotta suck," he said, smiling a little at the glass. I grinned, leaning into his arm. The limb seemed to radiate warmth and comfort at Sun levels. He turned a bit, tilting his body downwards so he could rest his head against mine.

"Yeah."


End file.
